


i have waited for you always

by blastellanos



Series: lateralus [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, supernatural themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: Which means one spell must always remain, to locate another.





	i have waited for you always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



Familiars can only hold on to so many spells at once and it’s a pain, because the thing about witches is that their lives are dangerous. Ones that are flamboyant, that are open, can be there one moment and gone the next. And the pain that springs forth, that bond being broken– it burns more than Hellfire. It’s like a throbbing, open wound. And every breath in– every breath out– is like a horrific shuddering.

Which means one spell must always remain, to locate another.

Hernán disappears late on a Sunday night. James searches and he searches, but the trail runs cold in the middle of some woods, so wrought with raw magic energy that it deadens the trail. It’s known for it; he’s sure it’s an intentional route.

It’s early Wednesday when he wakes up, agony firing on all of his nerve-endings and the warm bond that had kept him warm through days and nights had vanished like it never existed, leaving only pain and emptiness in it’s wake.

James vows to never take another witch.

The feeling of emptiness can’t fade, but James is made aware, another facet of being a familiar. Of a slowly weakening life force. Is his own life forfeit? He wonders if there’s an afterlife, where familiars and their witches can be re-bonded.

He follows through for days, until he feels his memory start slipping, and the bright orange magical vein that runs through his mind, tracing runes and spell words in his head, begins to fade to a rusty orange like dried blood, and the thought of dying becomes more real and less appealing.

He asks Hernàn for forgiveness. If he can hear him; if he was still out there. But with it or without, James has to move on. He flits through the streets, takes the cheapest lightrail from Miami to Detroit.

He can’t be in Miami anymore. He can’t bear to go home to California. The somber grey and brown slush and patches of ice and the overcast sky are the perfect mood.

He draws the rune in a bank of snow, lick of orange fire burning out the symbols. A spell all familiars never hope to use, but one that’s ingrained from the time they’re babes and on up.

This is– well.

He feels a lick of energy answering the call, sliding together in, the orange sparking, flaring brighter and deeper as it latches on to the pulsing dark blue, that looks almost like black neon, spreading out in the snow.

A beacon shines–  _to the East_ – and he follows it like Wise Men following the Star of Bethlehem. He follows the thread because he feels it pulling him, like it does, when the witch has been found. And the bond.

James finds him. He’s small but toned with curly dark hair and– looking nothing like his last witch looked.

(Well, some similarities but–)

“A baseball player?” James wonders aloud.

“Well no fucking kidding, Sherlock,” Someone says beside him, sarcasm dripping, “you’re at a fucking  _ballpark_. Hey everyone, check out the  _genius_.”

He’s clearly drunk.

Which means James can ignore him. And James does ignore him. But he can see the magic. He knows others wouldn’t be able to, but he sees the blue aura spark around him, the way he waves his hands, the subtle movements, the dance of his fingers in the air, drawing runes like the whole world is his canvas.

The burst of speed, the beautiful movements– art and poetry and  _his_. James feels the sudden, normal, bond settling in, and jealousy rears it’s ugly head like a snake in the grass.

He waits.

José finds him, like he knew he would.

“You’re a human!” José sounds surprised and a frown crosses over his features, the glimmer in his eyes dying down a little. “I thought human familiars were illegal.”

James puffs up, indignant. They were–

“You can deny the bond if you want.” James feels defensive, he feels– there’s something about the bond. Something strange and alluring, like the dark magics, where it’s sinful energy tried to lure one in.

Is José dangerous?

José laughs and it sounds more sinful than dark magic.

Magic sparks between them when their knuckles brush together.

*

José enters his mind like soothing balm over the rawness that Hernàn’s death had left. And while it doesn’t take it completely, it’s suddenly– suddenly less painful. Ebbed off, to manageable.

José takes him to a lavish house and there’s all this baseball stuff around.

“You  _cheat_.” It’s an accusation.

José’s eyes glitter like the stars in the night sky, “Is just my special flare, no? We all have talents. Special talents.”

José studies him like he can see through him.

“Do you have a special talent?” It feels almost mocking, like José knows. Like he doesn’t need James to tell him because he’s already aware. He wonders if José can smell it on him. Or if he sees it in his mind.

Is this a chance to come clean?

Hernán had been god-fearing, he hated his magic and he used it sparingly, and here was José so flagrant. And James wasn’t used to being open and he wasn’t –

“Can you feel it?” James asks and he grabs José’s palm and traces the runes across the Iines on José’s palm. “You can now?”

The air crackles like a fire just snapped to life around them. It’s almost like the oxygen catches fire and sucks out the breath from their lungs. Around the roar, James can hear José’s heavy and panting breathing.

“Oh God.” José says and his voice is tight.

James doesn’t even need to touch him to do it, but he always liked that part. James’s hands slide up José’s arm and over his biceps, and his hands settle against the sides of José’s throat.

“You feel like you’re so bad.” James murmurs to José.

“You gonna show me how you treat bad boys?”

José’s laugh is as hot as the air around them and it vibrates through James’s forearms and he stifles José’s laughter by fitting their mouths together. José scrambles into his lap.

Hernán had – he’d been good to James but they’d never bonded like this. They’d never –

“Wanna see a magic trick?” José laughs and draws a rune against James’s chest and he feels the track of magic long after José’s finger pulls away. Which is fine because James thinks he wouldn’t mind if he could always feel the linger of José’s touch on him.

It’s going to be too much – James knows – if they bond like this. But José’s magic trick has rid them of their clothes and James feels like he’s following muscle memory as he bends José over his lap and slides his fingers into him.

It’s good. James can see dark blue sparks in front of his eyes and the bond is going crazy. It pulses and entwines.

“I can’t take it – complete me.” José gasps as he writhes in James’s lap, pinned down by James’s strong arm around his waist, and beholden completely to what James wanted to do to him.

James wants. The want feels so strong he can taste it. He can taste José’s magic like it’s choking him out, dark and musky and intense– it coats his throat and his tongue and the roof of his mouth and he thinks he might choke on it.

James spears José on his cock and grabs his lithe waist and José grabs his shoulders and  _rides_. James bucks him like a bronco and there’s no real rhythm just pure, unadulterated feeling – skin slapping against skin and _fire_.

James thinks he may have blacked out when he comes and the dark blue sears across his eyes.

José kisses James and whispers – “they told me when you come, your eyes would match my magic.”

*

The pulsing remains for days. The bond so intense that James can  _feel_. He feels everything and he loves every second. José – well, he plays baseball.

José isn’t flamboyant, not open, but he doesn’t hide it either and James feels his heartbeat thud and swell. And eternal whispers say  _mine_.

James clings on to the string of José’s magic like a kid holding desperately onto a balloon.

He won’t lose him, he won’t lose him.

*

A message appears on the door, on a lonely Sunday night.

An ominous,  _We know what sinful being dwells here. Beware._

James, that night, holds José close and doesn’t think he can sleep. Something scrapes against the window but it’s probably just tree branches.

There’s a face in the darkness briefly and a protection spell flares around the house and the blue magic barrier fizzles and goes dark – and the feeling of protection fades. James clings to José.

The tightness makes José awaken and the stairs creak with ominous presence. A feeling of dread settles uneasy over James’s chest.

The door creaks open and suddenly – a crack of light from the hallway splashes on the carpet of the bedroom.

José’s blue runes flicker to life, snapping like a whip–

*

James awakens and he’s alone in bed, with some strange yearning deep in his chest. Like the call of something ancient and sorrowful, beckoning him out of bed.

Orange light glows from the streetlights outside the second story window and he moves over to them. He’s cold.

He’s been having those sort of visions for months and he’s not sure what to think of them, just that the throbbing in his chest has been getting stronger and stronger.

The faint aura of José’s magic still surrounds the house, humming like a quiet generator and he sees José is still sound asleep, not bothered by whatever ill-tide dreams that James is having.

Familiars only have so many spells at once. So it goes.

And one, they’re taught from a young age to never ever let go of. James closes his eyes and feels the runes that had once called José to him fade away, willing the spell away to make room for one other.

A spell, really, he shouldn’t know. And the darker magica draw jagged and chaotic symbols in his mind – neon black and rusty orange.

If someone comes for José– James will make them pay.  


End file.
